Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [37]
“Well, you’re something,” Tate replied.
“I’m determined, that’s all.”
“Determined to do what? Drink yourself blind?”
“I’ll be fine once I figure out who killed him.”
“Maybe you should leave that to the cops.”
“Murder is not their specialty, Tate.”
“Is it yours?” Tate asked.
“Now it is.”
For the next hour, Lacey roamed the bar like a drunk Columbo and made casual conversation. Then, as she moved on to the next patron, she would say, “One more thing . . . when’s the last time you saw Doc Holland?”
Lacey’s interviews offered no new information and so she sat back down at the bar, pulled out her notebook, and started compiling a list of people who required interviewing in Mercer. Too bad she couldn’t locate Doc Holland, because he was number one on her list. Next was Marybeth Monroe, Hart’s mom, who lived on the side of the mountain with her second husband. While Hart and his mom had never been close, Lacey wasn’t sure who he was close to. She then listed Darryl as a person of interest and, finally, Terry, although she doubted she could extract any relevant information from him. Sometimes you couldn’t even have a lucid conversation about the weather with Terry.
Lacey could feel the air in the room shift. Part of it was the breeze from his sheer bulk, but also his presence made everyone catch their breath for a second. Lacey knew of no specific crimes that could be attributed to Big Marv, but he always made her uneasy. Judging from the slight hush that took over the tavern, she was not alone.
Big Marv sat down on the adjacent barstool. Lacey shifted a few inches over to give him a wide berth. Besides, he smelled like his usual cheap cologne. Despite the layers of body odor that floated through the bar, Big Marv’s scent was the most oppressive.
“Lacey,” Big Marv said.
Lacey was never sure whether Big Marv approved of his nickname. Certainly he knew he was enormous, but sometimes enormous people don’t like having attention drawn to that fact. Or maybe that was a woman’s take on the matter.
“Mr. Babalato,” Lacey said, just to be safe.
Tate served Big Marv a shot of the best whiskey in the house on the house and said, “Do me a favor, just don’t ask her where she’s been turtling herself.”
Big Marv downed the whiskey in a single gulp and slid the glass forward for another pour. Tate obliged, grudgingly.16
“You want something for that?” Tate asked, referring to the red mark on Marv’s forehead.
“Nope. I’m good. You should see the other guy,” he said, grinning at Lacey.
She was trying to mind her own business with her note-taking.
“What you got there, Lacey?”
“Nothing. Just a to-do list,” Lacey replied, snapping her notebook shut. “Can I have another?” she said, pointing to the glass.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Tate asked. The tension on the adjacent barstools was impossible to ignore.
“Give her a drink, Tate. It’s on me,” Marv said, showing no sign of reaching for his wallet.
Tate served the drink; Lacey tossed a bill on the bar; Marv slid the bill back in Lacey’s direction.
“I said, I’m buying.”
“Everybody knows you don’t pay your tab,” Lacey replied.
Marv swiveled his wrestler-gone-to-seed physique around on his barstool and looked Lacey dead in the eye.
“What has gotten into you people?”
“You people?” Lacey asked. “What do you mean? Humans? Women? People who pay for their drinks?”
“I just had a chat with your brother, and now you seem to be hunting for trouble. In your case I’m going to let it slide, what with your recent loss and all.”
“What kind of chat?” Lacey asked.
“Nothing major, but you might want to make sure he stays awake for the next twelve to twenty-four hours.”
Only then did Lacey realize that her brother probably had a matching welt on his forehead.
“Where is he?”
“Last I saw him he was at Diner.”
“What did you do to him?”
“I gave him a piece of friendly advice.”
“What?” Lacey asked. “Wear a helmet?”
“The problem with you people is that you’re always nosing in other people’s business. And when I say you people, I mean all you Hansens. Your mama